The Christmas Pic

39. Ava

CHAPTER 39

AVA

Did I pull a bit of a Kylie Jenner flying from Santa Monica to San Bernardino? Perhaps. A two-and-a-half-hour drive was something I couldn’t stomach. Apologizing is already difficult enough, and this one… this is about to be the hardest of my life.

My driver pulls up to the front of my childhood California-style home, straight from my nightmares. I step out of the car, my heart racing as I approach the front door. I take a deep breath and knock.

I hear some shuffling and a latch coming undone, and then it opens. There stands my mom, hair silver and long, a familiar unreadable expression on her face.

“Ava. Come in.” I make my way into the house.

“Well?” she says.

We haven’t seen each other in years, but she still understands I cut right to the chase.

“I’m here to… repair this,” I say, uncomfortable.

“Hm,” she says.

“Is that something you’d like to do?” I hang on her silence.

“It’s something I tried to do a long time ago,” she reminds me.

“Did you, though? I recall you asking me for money. ”

“You sent me a check, but that doesn't mean I asked for it,” she rebuts. “I ripped it up the day I got it.”

“Well… yeah,” I say, taking in the house, exactly the same as when I left. “We hadn’t talked for years and then you call up as soon as we go public?”

“It was an olive branch, Ava,” she says. “I can’t believe you thought I’d use you like that. My own daughter.”

“ Everyone was using me like that.”

“I don’t know what you want from me. I reached out at a time I thought you’d be receptive. Your work was going so well for you.”

“But it wasn’t going well between us. It never was.”

“I did all I knew to do,” she says, exasperated. “Parents are just people. You’ve always had such impossible standards.”

“Where do you think I got it from?” I try not to be on the defensive, but it all comes bubbling back. “You were the one who could’ve protected me, and you chose not to.”

“Chose not to? I’m not the one who picked up and went to San Francisco by herself.”

“You gave me no choice!” My voice rises. “You didn’t support me.”

“Is this why you’re here?” she asks. “To fight with me again after all these years?”

“No, but–I want you to admit it already!”

“Admit what, Ava?”

“That you’re the reason a group of old men run my entire life. That I don’t own Gramsta, the only piece of me that I understand. The thing I’ve given all of myself to.”

I see the anger rise and fall in her eyes. But instead of succumbing to the rage, she wells up with tears.

“I failed,” she says calmly. “I failed you and I failed our relationship. I’ve regretted it every single day since you left. I’m sorry. ”

I’ve needed to hear those words for so long. They’re freeing, yet a pit of guilt remains anchored in my stomach.

“Look where you are Ava. Don’t you see? So you don’t own the biggest share of your company… that’s a damn shame. But you’re here, you’re changing the world. What more could you ask for?”

She’s right. I’ve been so focused on my singular goal of being Gramsta, that I didn’t realize all I have. Jo came into my life, showing me exactly what I needed, and I couldn’t get past my own bullshit to see.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Mom,” I blurt. The words have never escaped my lips so quickly. “I love you.”

“Well, not so fast,” she chuckles hesitantly. “I have something to tell you. It’s been on my heart for a long, long time. Sit.”

I follow her to the same floral couch from my childhood. She takes my hand.

“When you were very young, I suspected your behavior was… different from other kids,” she begins. “I took you to the doctor for an evaluation.”

“I remember.”

“I never told you the results of that test because I didn’t want you to feel any more different than you already were. I was trying to protect you,” she murmurs. “I’ve come to suspect that was the wrong choice and I’m sorry.”

“What did the doctor say?”

“She said you were likely on the autism spectrum. But it was also the nineties, and she gave me a scary speech about the discrimination you might face from teachers, from your peers, for having that label.”

I let her words sink in. On the spectrum . In the tech world where I thrive, being neurodivergent is not only accepted but often seen as an asset, a unique lens for innovative thinking. I’ve always found a kinship among fellow nerds, a social comfort in our shared quirks.

“...Ava?” she prods gently, her expression laden with worry, anticipating hurt and anger.

But instead of betrayal, an illuminating clarity washes over me. Permission to finally understand the nuances of my own nature. I understand why she made the choices she did; she was doing the best she could with the knowledge she had at the time.

“It explains a lot.”

She laughs at my bluntness and I laugh along with her.

I can’t control my emotions as I hug her. It’s been way too long. It was always me and her and I abandoned that for my selfish goals. Exactly like I did with Jo.

Tears stream as she strokes my hair, like she used to when I was a child. “What made you decide to find me?” she asks.

“I wanted to make amends. Before it was too late.”

She pulls back. “I’m not dying.”

“I know, I–I want to squash this, once and for all,” I say.

“Ever since I called, I’ve been waiting to do the same,” she tells me. “I could’ve done a better job protecting you, and I’m sorry. I… I had no help.” Tears form in her eyes.

“No, it’s okay, Mom, I would’ve done the same.” I hug her again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She pulls back and wipes her eyes. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Uh,” I scrunch my nose. “I might be gay?”

She chuckles. “That’s the least of my worries.”

After a long catch-up with my mom, I make my way back to LA. I told her all about Jo, and she encouraged me that first loves are difficult, but that I’ll make it through, I always do. I hadn’t considered that at 36, Jo was my first love, but it’s true: she is. Well, was.

Mom and I promised to see each other soon to make up for lost time. It feels right, even though nothing else does.

Back at the office, I sit at my desk, reviewing the freshly written letter on my laptop. Max knocks on my door, their forehead lined with worry.

“Can you proofread before we send it?” I ask.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Their eyes glisten a little. “You’ve put so much heart into this company, Ava–”

“Tech isn’t about heart,” I cut them off. “I can’t do it anymore.”

“But you could create so much change.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to tell me what I want to hear anymore, Max.”

“You know I never did that.”

I stand, leaving the laptop open for them, and gather my things.

“You can go enjoy Christmas trees and caroling and all the stuff you’ve missed out on working with me,” I say. “I won’t ruin it all anymore.”

A tear runs down their cheek and I quickly run to hug them.

“I was kidding! Mostly!” They cry-laugh into my shoulder. “I’ll make sure you still have your job, don’t worry about that either.”

“I’m more worried that I’ll miss doing your dirty work.”

I choke up. Our years of working together all day, every day, are coming to an end, and it’s all because of me. I can’t drag Max along, wherever I’m going. They deserve the best, and that’s not me yet.

“Oh, I forgot.” I head back to the computer and scroll to the bottom of the letter. In my signature I add one word:

Ava Garcia-Greene

Former CEO of Gramsta